


L.I.F.E G.O.E.S O.N

by Vander38



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 17:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20195902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vander38/pseuds/Vander38
Summary: Death comes on bitter wings but life must go on





	L.I.F.E G.O.E.S O.N

“Aveline, can we talk?”

I ask in a small voice and she nods.

“Of course Merrill, come in.”

She says, inviting me through into her office.

It’s a humble office, there is a desk with a lot of papers on it, and a small statuette of copper flowers? I think they are flowers. The chair is half collapsed, there is a Templar shield hanging over the fireplace and a well used dartboard with three knives and a hammer embedded in it.

She invites me to sit on the chair in front of the desk, then she perches on the edge.

“Is everything okay Merrill?”

She asks after scanning my face.

“Um, not really Aveline, not really.”

I say, unable to meet her eyes, her face is grave and concerned but she lets me speak.

“It’s Hawke, I’m worried about him.”

I say and she nods.

“How is he?”

She asks, her normally gruff voice is soft and concerned.

“He, well, I don’t know, ever since the funeral he hasn’t said a word, not to me, or to anyone. He doesn’t cry, just, he just.”

I feel tears welling up and she places an armoured hand on my shoulder to comfort me.

For two weeks I had been alone, scared and confused. It was unsettling just how silent he was. At the execution he had turned his face away, at the funeral there was nothing. And in the days since, nothing, even the light in his eyes seemed to have died.

“I know I’m probably being silly but I’m worried that we might lose him Aveline, what do we do?”

Her face is sad.

“It’s not silly Merrill, you’re right to be concerned, he’s had a tough time, I mean, he lost his sister in the Blight, his brother joined the Templars and disowned him and now his mother as well. It’s a lot for anybody to get through.”

She sighs softly.

“Truth is Merrill, we just have to be there for him if he wants us, otherwise we just have to let him grieve, on his terms and in his way.”

Her eyes are sad.

“But what if?”

I can’t finish the sentence, to put words to my darkest fears about Hawke.

“Hawke is tough Merrill, he will survive, just give him time.”

Her voice is comforting, then she looks to the Templar shield, old and battle damaged, yet regularly cleaned and polished.

“When Wesley died, I, well, I had a lot to deal with, surviving the Blight, getting here, working my way as a guard.”

She sighs again.

“Then one day I was able to just let it all out, to just cry as much as I needed, to scream and shout. After that I was able to be, well logical is the wrong word, but I was able to think and eventually accept, what had happened to Wesley.”

Her voice is soft and then a small smile as she strokes her ring finger, there is a new ring there, a simple silver band.

“Then I met Donnic.”

She adds, blushing to match her hair.

“Where is Hawke now?”

She asks as her blush fades.

“Still at home, Varric came to talk to him.”

I say softly.

“That’s good, Varric may be able to help.”

Her voice is hopeful but she doesn’t meet my eyes.

I bid farewell and make my way back home, to the big sprawling mansion that now felt so empty, with Leandra gone, it was like the house had shrunk, had died with her.

I greet Varric in the hallway.

“How?”

I begin but he shakes his head softly.

“I dunno Daisy, just I dunno.”

Varric seems lost for words and his face is drawn.

“Thank you Varric.”

I say, placing my hand on his shoulder, he pats my hand.

“Let me know if you need anything Daisy, alright, gotta be there for you as well.”

He says in low tones.

“Thank you Varric I appreciate it.”

He walks away and I head further inside, Hawke is just sitting there, near the still locked door of Leandra’s old bedroom.

He stares unseeing at the ground and I don’t know whether he knows where he is, or, I just don’t know.

“Hawke?”

My voice echoes in the still silence.

There is no response.

There is never a response.

For hours he just sits there, or curls up, always silent, hours turn to days, days become weeks. Weeks become months.

At first Buttons would try to play, and sometimes Hawke would obediently push a ball down the hall, still with those cold, dead eyes and lackadaisical movements.

Then the ball went on a shelf to gather dust.

Months became seasons, as spring passed into summer life moved on in the city. I continued to work on the Eluvian, when I could, Varric wrote and published two poems, popular in the Free Marches, but not in Orlais. Aveline continued to rebuild the guard, Isabela lost an ear and Anders had to fix her, she still says her ears are crooked.

Still Hawke stayed silent and still.

Like a living corpse.

Summer passed quickly, the tensions of the city continued and life moved on, Fenris worked through the extensive wine cellar, Sebastian prayed a lot.

Hawke never left the house, he would eat sometimes, sleep a lot, but I never heard a single word.

I would hold him sometimes, stroking his hand and hair, or I would tell him the news of the city, stories from the others, sometimes I would sing Dalish songs I had been sung in childhood.

Summer passed into autumn, Gamlen briefly became the wealthiest man in Kirkwall in a card game, for ten minutes he was richer than some countries, but only for ten minutes. Orana improved her flute music, Anders printed more manifestos.

The house was cold and silent and dark.

So was Hawke.

Autumnal leaves fell softly to the cold stone of the White City of Chains, soon covered in a light dusting of snow as winter came.

On the night of the first snowfall the group met in Hawkes house, the fires lit, tea made.

There was little conversation, it was as quiet and cheerless as a tomb.

After a third attempt of conversation died slowly, Isabela produced a pack of cards.

I think everyone is grateful for the idea.

It seems to help, cards dealt, winners and losers, Isabela cheating and Anders being hopeless.

At the second game Buttons joined the table, I became dealer and Varric helped the dog with the cards.

After a few rounds Anders throws down in disgust and Buttons barks, happy in victory.

“No one like a sore winner boy.”

Varric says sagely as he strokes Buttons ears.

The dogs looks away then jumps down to run to the stairs.

“Oh you’ve upset him Varric.”

I say, others at the table laugh.

“I didn’t mean it like that boy, come back!”

Varric calls out to more laughter.

The laughter suddenly stops as a figure emerges from the stairs.

Hawke.

He looks terrible, much thinner than he was, his hair is unwashed and has grown out down his back, his chin is unshaven in a mass of unruly brown hair. His skin is pale and his movements slow, his old housecoat seems to be the only thing holding him upright.

He crouches low by Buttons and after a moment of sniffing, Buttons licks his face, just once.

He ruffles the dogs ears and kisses his forehead.

He stands and sighs then makes his way over towards our table.

There is an awkward silence.

“Um, I uh.”

His voice is croaking, like he had forgotten how to use it.

“I uh, don’t have the buy in, could someone spot me? I’m good for it.”

His voice gains strength as he talks and Fenris nods and pushes a small pile of coin over to Hawke, now sitting in Buttons chair.

“Thank you Fenris.”

I deal his cards and he gently brushes my fingers with his, a small spark jumps between us.

A small smile to me as he catches my eye, the light is back, small and uncertain, but it’s back.

“Thank you Merrill.”

I get the feeling it is for more than just the cards.


End file.
